


By the Hearthside

by sconesandtextingandmurder, whichstiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Holiday Mixtape 2017, Kittens, M/M, SPN Holiday Mixtape, team free will plus kittens, topper!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 05:14:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13047231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sconesandtextingandmurder/pseuds/sconesandtextingandmurder, https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichstiel/pseuds/whichstiel
Summary: When a snowstorm prevents them from making the drive all the way home to the bunker, Sam, Dean, and Cas take shelter in an empty cabin for the night. It's not the Christmas Eve any of them had planned, but Dean is determined to make it work.





	By the Hearthside

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the Holiday Mixtape mods for another great challenge!

“I’d like to give you a chance to practice your lock-picking, buddy, but time is of the essence here,” Dean says, his voice muffled from where his chin is tucked into his collar. He shuffles a little closer, letting his body shield Cas from the wind and snow that seem to buffet them from all sides at once.

Luckily, it only takes Sam a few more seconds and then the cabin door is creaking open, allowing them to hurry inside. Dean kicks the door shut behind him but not before a whirl of sharp, icy snow blows in and scatters on the floor. In the relative silence and warmth of the cabin, they all stop to catch their breath. They’re laden down with everything they could carry from the car, and trudging through calf-deep snow has sculpted the bottoms of their jeans into stiff, frozen wrinkles.

Once the Impala had started sliding on the road, Dean abandoned his plan to push through to get them to Kansas in time to sleep in their own beds. Instead, he spent the next forty harrowing minutes creeping along, white-knuckling the wheel until they found this dark and empty place nestled back in the trees. When he tried to navigate the turn, the front end slid off the edge of the driveway, and the only good thing about the rapidly accumulating snow was that it prevented the car from slipping any further down the grade.

Now, they lean into each other in the small entryway, setting down their things and pulling off their snow-encrusted boots. With his long legs, Sam easily strides over the tracked-in snow to find the thermostat. He pushes the switch upwards and they all go still for a moment until they hear a reassuring click followed by a hiss of blowing air.

Together they pad around in their stocking feet to see what they have to work with. Anything that got them out of the storm would’ve been welcome, but it turns out they’ve hit a sort of jackpot here. There’s electricity and heat and a decently stocked pantry. While the place is small, with only one bedroom, there’s also a pull-out couch in the living room.

Dean drops onto the queen bed and bounces a few times, testing the give of the mattress. “Not bad,” he declares. Cas is watching him from the doorway, and Sam appears, looking in over his shoulder.

Sam sighs. “Don’t rub it in.”

“Sorry, Sammy.” Dean is totally not sorry.

“You guys are gross and I’m always stuck with the shit bed now.”

“I don’t hear you complaining when you get an entire bed to yourself.”

Sam waves his arm in the direction of the couch. “Yeah, but that hardly counts as a bed.”

Cas looks concerned. “Dean, we could—”

“No way, Cas. You know I changed his diapers, right? He owes me forever.”

Cas turns to Sam, like he isn’t sure who to believe. Sam smiles reassuringly and slaps him on the shoulder. “I’m just giving you guys a hard time. Hey, at least there will be a door between us tonight.”

Dean bounces on the bed more forcefully, until the springs squeak and the headboard bangs against the wall. Sam just rolls his eyes.

*  
They reconvene in the small kitchen where there’s definitely enough food to last them a couple of days. Dean sees cans of soup and chili, and packages of pasta. There’s even a box of hot chocolate packets, the kind with the tiny marshmallows that are probably made from some sort of toxic waste but taste delicious.

With a few hours of daylight left, Dean addresses the matter at hand. “The good news is that we aren’t going to starve or freeze, but this isn’t at all how I’d envisioned Christmas Eve.” Back at the bunker he was going to cook a big meal. He had presents already bought and wrapped for each of them. There was even an old artificial tree they’d found in one of the storerooms that had been set up for weeks.

“Not starving or freezing already ranks it higher than some of the ones we’ve had,” Sam reminds him and Dean gives him a half-smile of rueful agreement.

“Sam’s correct,” Cas adds. “We have everything we need.”

Normally that would be enough, for them to be safe and together. “You’re right,” Dean begins, “but...I wanted this Christmas to be…” He can’t quite make the word “special” come out of his mouth. “Now that we’re…” he gestures at Cas, who smiles at him, his eyes shining with fondness.

“Did I mention you guys are gross?” Sam is watching them both with amusement. His face softens. “But I get it.”

Dean looks around. There’s a wood burning fireplace which means there’s probably wood somewhere, which means there’s probably an axe somewhere. If worse came to worst, he could trek back to the car and get the one from the trunk, but he peers out the back door and spies a woodpile and an axe. “What if I go get us a tree? Nothing big but we’re literally surrounded by a pine forest.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Cas offers.

Dean shakes his head and gestures to a small stand of trees visible from the back door. “I’m not going far in this mess.”

“We can start a fire and get some food ready,” Sam tells Cas.

So Dean layers up again, carrying his wet boots to the back door before putting them back on. He opens the door to find the wind has died down a bit, and, hefting the axe over his shoulder, he sets off to find the perfect tree. Everything is a little too small or too big and he’s tempted to wander further from the house, but he doesn’t want anyone to worry so he settles on one that he can easily drag back by himself. He sets to work chopping it down, swinging the axe until he’s sweating even while his finger ache with cold through his gloves.

It’s slow going in the still-falling snow, but at least the wind has nearly stopped, leaving it peaceful and quiet with only the hushed susurration of snow landing on snow, and the occasional branch creaking under its weight. The branches of the cut tree rustle as he drags it back toward the house but it isn’t enough to muffle the small sound coming from the woodpile.

He slows his pace, listening, until he hears it again, thin and high and plaintive. He lets go of the trunk and creeps closer to investigate, scanning the snow-covered wood. Finally he spots what he’s looking for, down at ground level, sheltered by a couple of logs. There, hidden in the shadows is a tiny black kitten. Dean crouches down slowly so as not to scare it and takes a closer look. A second kitten pokes its head out, craning its neck to stare back at him. Looking him right in the eye, it meows rather loudly, like it’s expecting something more.

“Hey, guys, where’s your mom?” Dean says, tentatively reaching out a hand. The second kitten sniffs at him but jerks back to the shelter of the woodpile when the first kitten scolds it with a yowl. There’s a bit of a staredown before Dean gets back to his feet, shaking the dusting of snow from his shoulders. Leaving the tree on the ground, he steps onto the back porch and opens the door to call inside. “We’ve got a situation out here.”

In the few moments it takes for Sam and Cas to come outside, Dean’s returned to the front of the woodpile to keep watch. He glances up to see Sam with his gun at the ready and Cas making that scrunched-up face that means he’s about to unveil his angel blade.

“Whoa whoa whoa, calm down, Annie Oakley.” Sam looks at him in confusion, but he puts the gun away.

“You said there was a situation,” Cas confirms.

Dean waves them closer, then holds a finger to his lips so they’ll know to advance quietly. They crouch beside him and the kittens poke their heads out again for a quick look before retreating into shadowy safety.

“They’re out here alone?” Sam asks without taking his eyes off of them.

“As far as I can tell. I heard them meowing.”

“They can’t stay out here,” Sam says.

Dean nods his agreement. “But how are we gonna get—”

There’s a flash of movement from Cas and when they turn toward him, he’s got a kitten cuddled against his chest, cupped in the palm of his hand.

Dean can’t even make words and he’s left staring at him, mouth open.

Sam blinks, impressed. “How’d you do that?”

The second kitten is watching them, looking for its sibling and taking a few tentative steps out toward the open. “Here,” Cas says, handing the first one to Sam.

Sam takes it in both of his hands and the kitten looks at him with big, trusting eyes. Sam holds it close, smiling softly at it. In the span of another heartbeat, Cas has the second one as well. When Cas brings his cupped hands closer to Sam, the two kittens get onto their back legs and touch noses, then settle back into their new, warm spots.

Dean starts to get to his feet. “I guess we’ve got company tonight.” Sam hasn’t stopped gazing at his kitten and Dean feels remarkably warm despite the weather. “You take them in and I’ll bring the—”

A faint meow stops him and all three of them turn to look at the woodpile. Before he can decide what to do, there’s a kitten in his hands and Cas is on his hands and knees peering into the space where the other two were. Dean’s kitten makes a small chirping sound until Dean brings it in, tucking it close to his chest. The kitten tries to climb upward and Dean feels a tickle of fur under his chin.

Cas, meanwhile, is murmuring softly, too softly for them to make out his words. With one hand outstretched, he slowly sits back on his heels and, as they watch, a third kitten, slightly smaller than the other two, creeps out into the light. With its tail held high, it walks right into the palm of Cas’s hand.

“There aren’t any more,” Cas states, and Dean’s not sure if he could see into their shelter or if the cats are actually communicating with him. Either way, it’s time to get them inside.

While the kittens are small, they aren’t newborns. They’re thin but not skinny and Sam points out that it seems like they’ve been cared for up until recently. They stamp the snow off their boots as best they can and carry their respective kittens to the couch. Bringing them into the cabin seemed the obvious choice, but now that they’re inside Dean’s not sure what comes next. There’s a long moment of silence as they sit and let the kittens warm up.

Dean sees they’ve gotten a fire started while he was out chopping down the tree and that, plus the furnace, has the room warmed to the point that he feels a little overdressed. He’s trying to figure out what to do with the kitten so that he can take off his coat when Sam’s cat meows loudly.

“Right,” Sam says, lifting the kitten up to eye level and smiling at it. “Food.” Dean finds himself in the possession of two kittens as Sam stands and makes his way to the kitchen. 

Cas scoots a little closer and his kitten stretches towards its siblings. When Cas loosens his grip the kitten climbs onto Dean’s lap to snuggle down with the other two. Cas smiles and reaches into his pocket.

Dean glares at him. “You take a picture of this and you’re sleeping with Sam on the pull-out.”

“Of course, Dean,” Cas says, all the while snapping a few pictures.

Sam comes back with a plastic dish pan and a pair of scissors. “I think we can make a litterbox if we shred those up and put them in here.” He points to the stack of newspapers near the fireplace.

Dean looks down at his lap, suddenly more concerned than he had been earlier. “Do they know how to use a litter box?”

The three of them exchange looks. “I guess we’ll find out,” Sam eventually says.

Dean peers at him. “How do you even know how to make that?”

Sam doesn’t answer, only shrugs before passing the litter box materials to Cas and returning to the kitchen. Dean tries not to think of how many times he’d had to tell the kid no when he’d begged for some kind—any kind—of pet. Dean hated seeing the disappointment on his face but he knew the only thing worse than refusing him a pet in the first place would’ve been inevitably leaving it behind later.

He doesn’t have much time to dwell on that though, because Sam is back with a couple of bowls. “I heated up some of the broth from a can of chicken soup. There’s tuna too but do you think they’re too little for that?” He looks concerned and Cas is squinting at him like he’s never before so regretted losing his connection to infinite knowledge.

“Let’s start with the broth and see how that goes,” Dean decides, even though he has no idea if that’s the right answer.

Sam sets down the broth and a bowl of water and Dean eases the kittens to the floor one at a time. They toddle over in the direction of the bowl and, after some insistent sniffing, one plunges its face in, followed quickly by the other two.

When the bowl is empty, they sit on the floor in the warmth of the brightly burning fireplace to groom themselves, licking their paws and occasionally each other’s faces before curling up together in a loose pile and dozing off.

With the kittens asleep, the rest of them get their coats and boots off and get ready for their own meal.

“I feel bad about eating these people’s food, but it’s not like we have another choice. We can leave a some cash to cover it.” Sam opens cans while Dean hunts through a series of cabinets in search of a pot. He tries not to think about the menu he had planned, the turkey and the pies.

As if he can read his brother’s mind, Sam holds up one of the empty cans he’s just rinsed out, looking at it thoughtfully. “I think we can make things a little more festive,” he says before taking the cans and disappearing, leaving Cas and Dean to finish getting dinner together.

Dean’s putting bowls on the table when Sam returns, holding his hands behind his back and looking quite pleased with himself.

Narrowing his eyes, Dean asks, “What have you done?”

“Don’t look, they aren’t ready. Go back in the kitchen for a minute.”

Dean rolls his eyes but he lets Cas lead him out of sight.

A few minutes later Sam calls for them to come see, and Dean exits the kitchen to find him standing next to the fireplace. On the mantel, three candles flicker, nestled into metal lanterns. Closer inspection shows what Sam has done. Taking a trio of empty cans, he’s pulled off the labels, then punched patterns into the metal using a sharp point. Maybe something from the lock picking kit, Dean thinks. He recognizes the black candles that are burning inside from the bag of materials they use for spells.

“Very nice,” Cas says softly, so he won’t wake the sleeping kittens.

They’re finishing their own dinner of stew and saltines when the kittens wake up and begin a sudden wave of plaintive meowing. Sam gets up to see what they need but they scramble across the room like tiny, fuzzy torpedos. They scratch at the door, crying pitifully.

Sam and Cas scoop them up again. “You can’t go out there,” Sam says, trying to reason with the two in his hands. “It’s too cold.”

“Try putting them in the litter box,” Dean suggests, but as they carry them back across the cabin, he hears something. “Hold on to them for a second,” he calls from where he’s standing by the door.

They dutifully hold the kittens close while Dean peeks out the window in the back door then opens it just enough…

The mama cat shoots through in a blur of black fur. Cas and Sam set down their squirming, crying furballs and a happy reunion ensues. Once the mama cat has thoroughly checked over each of her babies, she drinks some water and sniffs at the empty bowl that contained the chicken broth. Sam hurries to open a can of tuna for her.

Once he’s sure the cats are content to curl back up by the fire, Dean asks Cas to help him bring the tree in from where he’s left it out back. The snow is still coming down in big fat flakes and they have to brush off what’s accumulated before they’re able to wrangle it up the steps and into the cabin. There’s a spot to the left of the fireplace where it fits pretty well and they prop it up in the corner.

“Ok,” Dean says, adjusting the tree when it tilts to the left. “We are smart and resourceful. We’ve stopped more than one apocalypse, fought the devil...” He pauses, waiting for them to agree. “We are gonna find some shit to decorate this tree with.” He holds out a hand, palm down, and the other two merely look at him for a long moment before Sam blows his bangs off his forehead and reaches his hand in. Cas stands there a little longer, then adds his hand as well. “Back here in five minutes. One, two, three, break!”

Sam and Dean lift their hands over their heads while Cas draws his into his chest. Sam pats him on the shoulder. “We’ll work on this.”

With the minutes ticking away, they move about the cabin, examining the contents of every drawer and closet. When Dean yells “Time!” they meet back at the dining table, their arms and pockets full.

Dean nods approvingly at the bounty they present. “We’re gonna need some sort of string.”

“I have yarn,” Cas says and he goes to get it from the bag of knitting he’s been dragging around with them everywhere. Dean never sees what he’s working on since Cas mostly saves it for when they’re sleeping. Cas may not have his full grace, but he still only needs a couple hours each night.

Sam and Cas know without Dean telling them that the name of the game is not to be wasteful, so they focus on things that can be used as decorations and then returned to their proper place afterwards. Dean cuts length of yarn with his pocket knife while Cas digs through the box of jigsaw puzzle pieces for colorful ones and Sam pulls the plastic pawns from a game of Sorry. Once these are tied and hung on the tree, Dean carefully balances individual teabags still in their paper packets on the branches, adding touches of purple and yellow and green. Seeing those reminds Cas that he has ketchup, mustard, and sugar packets tucked away in one his bags and he adds those as well. Meanwhile, Sam retrieves the can lids from the trash and washes each one, then punches a hole in them, feeding yarn through so they can be looped over branches to add a touch of shine.

While Dean puts a bag of popcorn in the microwave, Sam sorts through the small stash of art supplies they’ve found and shows Cas how to fold squares of construction paper to cut into snowflakes. Dean doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything as wonderful as the look on Cas’s face when he unfolds his first snowflake. Dean pops another bag while Cas makes a half dozen more, hanging each one on the tree with the same precision he uses for drawing sigils. It isn’t easy to string the freshly popped corn on lengths of dental floss, but the plus side is that they end up with lots of broken bits to eat.

They admire their handiwork, pleased with the way the tree is evenly decorated with makeshift ornaments and garlands. The kittens admire it as well, moving closer and closer until one kitten manages to knock a mustard packet off of the tree. Before it can be pounced on, another kitten steps forward and gets its paw tangled in the yarn. Sam manages to untangle the flailing kitten, and he sits on the floor in front of the fireplace to dangle a length of yarn for it. Before long, he has all three kittens climbing into his lap to bat at it while Dean and Cas rearrange all the ornaments to leave the lowest branches clear.

“All we need is something for the top,” Sam says.

“Get up there, buddy, it’s tree topper time.” Dean nudges Cas who eyes the tree before turning to look at Dean appraisingly.

“Well, you do seem to enjoy it when I—”

Dean kisses him to shut him up. “Why don’t we continue this in private.”

As Dean leads Cas to the bedroom, Sam holds up a kitten and speaks sincerely to it. “Sometimes when a hunter and an angel love each other very much…”

In the bedroom, Cas looks at him suspiciously. “You wish to have sexual relations?”

“No,” Dean says. “I mean, yes. Always yes. But not right at this very moment.”

Cas raises an eyebrow at him. “Then why are we here?”

Dean drops heavily onto the bed. “This isn’t at all the Christmas I had planned, but it’s our first one together and I wanted it to be special.” It’s easier to say with just Cas listening.

Cas sits next to him and takes his hand. “Anywhere I’m with you is already special.”

Dean gives him a wry smile. “We’ve been some shitty places together.”

“We have,” Cas agrees. “And every one of them would have been worse alone.”

Dean leans into him, resting his head on Cas’s shoulder. “I know Sam’s a grown up but I’d like to be able to give him something nice to wake up to.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“I don’t know...like, hang some socks and scrounge around for something to put in them?”

“We can make that work.” Cas thinks for a moment. “But you need to tell him.”

“Why? I want it to be a surprise.”

“So he has the option to do it as well.”

Dean considers this and knows Cas is right. “Ok, let’s go give him a heads up.”

“That was fast,” Sam says when they open the bedroom door.

He’s right that they haven’t been gone long but nonetheless, in that short amount of time, he’s gone from sitting on the floor by the fire to stretched out on the couch. Two of the kittens are curled up on his chest while the third has climbed up to his shoulder and is currently chewing his hair. The mama cat rests casually on his lap, licking one paw.

Dean smirks, unable to resist. “Sorry to barge in here when you’re covered in--”

“Don’t say it,” Cas and Sam chorus.

“Fine,” Dean grouses. “Ok, Santa is coming tonight so hang up a sock.”

Sam squints at him. “There are so many things wrong with that sentence.”

“I guess you don’t want presents.” Dean shrugs.

The kitten continues its climb until it perches triumphantly on the top of Sam’s head. “You know I’m not eight years old, right?”

Dean slings an arm around Cas’s shoulder and looks as disappointed as he can. “Well, Cas, I guess we’ll take Sam’s presents back to the store.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “I’ll hang the dumb sock. But you’ve gotta hang yours too.”

It only takes a few minutes for them to find mostly-clean socks and affix them to the mantel using duct tape. Afterwards, Cas and Dean disappear back into the bedroom.

“Ok, let’s see what’ve we got.” They go through their bags, creating a small pile of possibilities in the middle of the bed. By the time they’re done they’ve compiled: a handful of silver bullets, Dean’s last packet of bison jerky from a roadside stand in South Dakota, three wrapped peppermints, one Andes candy, and a travel-sized bottle each of shampoo and conditioner from a motel in Wyoming.

“I wish I had time to make something. I used to whittle little things for Sam back when we were stuck in motels with nothing to do. Like spinning tops and shit.” Dean shrugs. “But after a while it couldn’t compare to the stuff he saw other kids get.”

“If you could whittle a smooth shape, we could make him a protection amulet.”

“How big would it need to be?”

“Just enough that I could fit some Enochian on it.”

“Let me go see what I can find by the woodpile.” Dean walks out of the bedroom to find Sam standing by the tree, laughing to himself. “What?”

“I made a tree topper.” Dean follows where he’s pointing. A bare toilet paper roll is now sporting a blue tie drawn in crayon and black construction paper wings. Sam has also drawn a face with blue eyes and dark hair on a circle of paper and attached it to the top. The angel surveys the scene with a surprisingly accurate approximation of Cas’s solemn gaze.

 

Dean snorts so loudly that Cas opens the door. “Nothing to see here,” Dean yells and, for a long moment, Cas stares at him with the exact same expression Sam has drawn.

“Nailed it,” Sam singsongs, when Cas has closed the door again.

“All it needs is a halo.”

Sam nods. “I’m on it.” He retrieves the tin foil from the kitchen while Dean puts on his boots. “Where are you going?”

“To get you a lump of coal. Mind your goddamn business.” Outside, clouds drift across the waning moon and he has to turn on his phone’s flashlight to see, but he’s able to retrieve a few odds and ends from the woodpile that looks usable. He stuffs them in his pocket and returns to the house. Sam shoves whatever he has in his hands behind him.

Dean gives him the narrow-eyed _I’m watching you_ nod before he disappears back into the bedroom. “Ok, what do you think?” He pulls the wood out of his pocket and holds the selection in cupped hands. Cas considers each piece, examining them one at a time while Dean tries not to be distracted by his long fingers.

“I’m not sure.” He settles on two and hands them back to Dean. “Can you work on these?”

Dean pulls out his pocket knife, then retrieves the trash can from the corner of the room before sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“Do me a favor and turn around,” Cas says. Dean waggles his eyebrows suggestively and Cas smiles at him. “I guess I’ll take your presents back to the store…”

Dean pretends to pout, then relocates to the foot of the bed and loses himself in the meditative work of whittling, the sound of his knife accented by the clicking of Cas’s knitting needles behind him.

As he works he tells Cas about Christmas Eves he and Sam have shared. He talks about ones spent in the warm comfort of Bobby’s drafty house and ones where it was up to Dean to provide for his little brother. It’s satisfying to see the rough wood take shape under his knife, and focusing on that means he doesn’t have to see the mix of sadness and concern that's sure to be on Cas’s face when he talks about holidays left alone in motel rooms or, one year, outside a bar in the Impala.

He’s a little out of practice but before too long he’s able to carve out two disks, one circular and one more oval. He passes them over his shoulder for Cas to approve.

“These will do just fine,” Cas says and Dean gets a kiss at the back of his neck to go along with the praise. “How are you going to fill his stocking without him seeing?”

“Same way I used to be the tooth fairy. I’ll wait till he falls asleep.”

“Maybe you should rest yourself. I'll wake you when the coast is clear.”

“I'm not tired,” Dean says. “But I wouldn't mind stretching out. Is it safe to look?”

“Yes. I'm finishing up something for Sam.”

Dean turns and finds Cas sitting cross-legged as he knits a hat for Sam from navy blue yarn. It's a simple beanie style and the dark color makes it perfect for working cases on cold nights. He reaches for the ball of yarn in Cas’s lap, careful not to put too much tension on it. “He's going to love it.”

Cas stretches out his legs and grabs a pillow to put in his lap, then gestures for Dean to lie down. Dean does, holding the yarn loosely so Cas can continue to knit. He dozes off listening to Cas hum softly to himself as the needles flash in the lamplight.

When he wakes, it's to Cas saying his name and smoothing his hair back from his forehead. Dean makes a garbled, happy noise.

“Dean. It's time.”

Dean rubs a knuckle over his eye and sits up to find that Cas has gathered everything for Sam and deposited it into the now complete hat.

He takes the hat, careful not to spill anything, and tries to look casual as he stops to retrieve a bundle from the inside pocket of his duffel.

When Dean gives him the signal, Cas switches off the lamp so that the light doesn't spill out into the living room when he opens the door. His eyes are still adjusting to the sudden darkness when he bumps into something. Something tall and shaggy-haired.

“Christ, Sam. What are you doing?”

“What are _you_ doing?” Sam demands.

“I'm...checking on the kittens,” Dean says, pleased with his sudden inspiration.

“They're fine,” says his smart-ass brother.

“Well, you're hogging them and…Cas was worried about them.”

“Cas was worried about the kittens so he sent you out here to check on them.”

Eyes adjusted, Dean glares at his brother who is clearly hiding something under his flannel shirt. “I don't see you over there keeping an eye on them.”

The smug look drops off his face. “That's because I'm...going to the bathroom.”

“Nice try, bitch.”

“Shut up, jerk.”

Sam changes course and heads for the bathroom. Dean waits until the door closes behind him to tiptoe over to the fireplace. In the soft glow of the embers he sees the cats piled up together. The mama cat opens her eyes, watching as he tucks the gifts into the appropriate places. It takes some wrangling to get them down into the white athletic socks, but he wedges them in as best he can. When he's done he crouches down and scratches her lightly between the ears until he hears the toilet flush.

“Operation Santa was a success,” he tells Cas once he’s scurried back to the bedroom.

Cas has changed into pajamas while he’s been gone and there’s no sign of any of the other things he’s been working on. Dean gets changed as well and this time when he lies down, Cas joins him. They pull the covers over them, snuggling down on the comfortable bed. Dean doesn’t realize how late it is until Cas props himself up on one elbow and says, “Merry Christmas, Dean.”

It’s not their room at the bunker, but they’ve been on the road for a number of days and it’s nice to have some privacy. They’re both aware of Sam on the other side of the door, but there’s no resisting the chance to revel in each other’s nearness. It’s gentle and easy and they touch each other almost languorously, hands roaming as they kiss long and deep. They’re warm and they’re safe and for God’s sake there’s a family of cats out in the living room with Sam. Dean rolls half onto Cas and smiles down at him. “This may be the best Christmas yet.”

“First of many, I hope,” Cas says. He reaches between them and they rock together until Dean is gasping, his face buried in Cas’s neck. When Cas follows, he’s got his hand threaded in Dean’s hair and Dean kisses him, capturing every sweet sound he makes.

Dean sleeps well that night. He’s not exactly sure what a sugar plum is, but it’s entirely possible he has visions of them dancing in his head.

Cas is still sleeping when Dean awakens and, after taking a few moments to admire the way his lashes curl onto his cheek, Dean sits up and vigorously throws the covers off of them both. “Merry Christmas!”

Cas mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like _back to the store_.

Dean climbs out of bed and pulls open the curtains. The snow has stopped and every surface glows rosy in the early morning sun. “It’s a white Christmas!”

Cas mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like _smite Christmas_.

Dean crosses back to the bed and pulls the pillow off of Cas’s face. “If you don’t get up, I’m gonna open presents without you.”

One blue eye opens. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Dean cups a hand to his ear and pulls a concerned face. “Do you hear that? The kittens are crying for their breakfast. Gotta go!”

By the time he gets to the door, Cas is sitting up at least. He’s tempted to fling the door open, but the thought of Sam ending up in a nest of claws stays his hand. Sure enough, he finds Sam sitting up on the sofa bed surrounded by cats.

“Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas!”

“I’ll re-stoke the fire and the we can op—” Dean stops, looking at the fireplace. The three stretched out white athletic socks have been replaced with four thick, hand-knitted socks. He turns back toward the bedroom to find Cas leaning in the doorway looking rumpled and all together pleased with himself.

Cas goes to put the kettle on while Dean builds the fire back up and tries not to peek, particularly into the fourth one.

Once the bed has been turned back into a couch and they’re all set up with cups of hot chocolate, Cas takes down the fourth stocking. He sits in front of the now-crackling fire and the kittens approach him eagerly. From within, he unearths a handful of toys: soft puff-like balls and braided stands with fringed edges, all made from yarn. A few wiggles of the braid and two kittens are on their back feet, reaching for it. The mama cat nudges at one of the balls with her nose and, as soon as it starts to move, the third kitten rears back, paws fluttering in the air in an attempt to be threatening, before it pounces. The yarn ball skitters away and the kitten is left on bare floor while the other two abandon the braid to join the attack.

Sam laughs so hard he nearly falls off the couch.

Cas pulls the final item--a can of tuna--out of the bottom of the sock. “Who is next?”

Dean gets to his feet. “Youngest to oldest. Sam first.” He takes down each sock and passes them around then settles next to Cas on the hearth.

Sam takes a minute to examine the sock itself. “You made this?”

Cas nods, almost shyly, and hands him the one that held that cats’ presents. “These are yours.”

Sam begins to go through his stocking, fishing out each item one by one. He makes a show of opening the shampoo and sniffing it and clutches the jerky to his chest. He digs out the amulet from the toe of the sock and turns the piece of wood over and over in his hands, admiring the smoothness and recognizing the sigil right away. He looks at Cas. “You made this, too?”

“That was a team effort.”

Sam gets a soft look in his eye. “Dean, remember how you used to make me those things when I was little?”

“I sure do, Sammy.”

With it emptied of gifts, Sam puts on both socks and holds his legs straight out, wiggling his toes to admire them. “Awesome. Thanks, you guys. Dean, you’re next.”

Dean goes through his stocking to find: a handful of condoms, a pack of teaberry gum, a five dollar bill, a packet of bison jerky (“Ha!” he says and he and Sam toast each other with the packages) and the other piece of wood that he’d whittled smooth. It has something painted on it that he recognizes as well and he feels himself blush.

“Lemme see,” Sam says. “Aw, your boyfriend gave you an Enochian love note.”

Dean closes it in his palm, tangible and real. Then he leans over to kiss Cas on the cheek. “Thank you. Both of you.” With one eyebrow arched, he stares right at his brother while he hands over most of the condoms to Cas.

Sam claps a hand over his eyes. “Christmas is ruined.”

“Your turn,” Dean says to Cas.

Cas pulls more condoms out of his stocking and adds them to Dean’s pile. He finds some Werther’s (“I know you like those old man candies,” Dean says), a travel sewing kit, a small Swiss army knife (which he stops to open and admire every blade and tool), and a laminated bookmark. He squints at it, reading the poem printed over the image of footprints along a beach.

“You didn’t,” Dean says.

Sam laughs. “I couldn’t resist. I bought it a while ago and almost forgot I had it. He _does_ like to read.”

“He does,” Dean agrees.

Cas frowns slightly at the bookmark. “That’s not how it works.”

“You never carry me anywhere,” Dean pouts.

“He carried you out of Hell,” Sam reminds him.

“And you did not seem appreciative at the time,” Cas adds.

“Ok, fine.” He nods at the sock in Cas’s lap. “Still something else in there.”

Cas reaches in and pulls out a thin item wrapped in tissue paper.

“It’s, uh, something I’ve been meaning to give you for some time now.” Dean rubs at the back of his neck as Cas slowly unwraps it.

When he unveils a glint of silver, Cas’s eyes go wide. “You didn’t.”

Dean smiles and shrugs, oddly flushed. “It was time.”

Cas holds up his very own key to the Impala. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything,” Sam says, from where he’s relocated onto the floor to crumple the tissue paper into another cat toy. He points toward something hanging in the kitchen doorway. “Go kiss him under the mistletoe. And then get me something to eat.”

Dean stands, effortlessly catching the can of tuna Sam flips his way, and makes for the kitchen.

Cas follows him to the doorway and peers upward. “Sam. Those are bay leaves.”

Dean kisses him anyway.

  

 

From the instant mix in the pantry, Dean makes a big batch of pancakes. There’s no butter, but there’s a bottle of syrup and more hot chocolate. While they’re eating they hear the unmistakable rumble of the snow plow clearing the road.

“Guess we can think about heading back,” Dean says. It’ll take some time to undo everything they’ve made and drag the tree back outside.

“What are we going to do about this?” Sam looks at the kittens who are passed out again with nice, full bellies.

There’s a long silence as they all consider. Dean feels like he’s thirteen again, ready to break his little brother’s heart. But there’s no way they can give these cats a home, not with the nature of the life they lead.

“I know we can’t take them,” Sam says, as if he’s reading Dean’s thoughts. “I guess they’ve done all right on their own...”

“I have an idea,” Dean says. “Let me head out toward the road and see if I can get a signal.”

The snow squeaks under his boots as he walks beneath the clear sky but there’s a softness to the air instead of the bitter cold of the day before. The wind has stilled but branches spring upward as snow falls from them in small clumps. The Impala sits where they left her near the end of the driveway but, with the road plowed, it shouldn’t be hard to get her back on track. He leans against the hood and pulls out his phone. Jody answers on the third ring.

He’s smiling when the call ends, tucking his phone back in his pocket and opening the trunk long enough to dump out a cardboard box of assorted weapons. By the time he gets back to the cabin, Cas and Sam have deconstructed the tree, putting away all of the bits and pieces they’ve used to decorate. Dean holds up the box. “We’re gonna detour to Jody’s on the way home." She'd only sighed once and muttered something about wayward kittens. "You’ll be shocked to know she’s got enough food to feed an army.”

Dean pulls the tree back outside and chops it into firewood, shedding his jacket as the sun shines down on him. They do their best to return the cabin to the state they found it, but decide to leave the punched can lanterns on the mantel along with a note thanking the owners and enough cash to cover what they’ve used. Sam lines the bottom of the box with one of his flannels and they lift the kittens into it one by one. The mama cat watches them with narrowed eyes until Sam scoops her up and, as soon as she joins them, the kittens' small cries stop. Sam folds the flaps to prevent any of them escaping as they gather up their bags and pull the door closed behind them.

**Author's Note:**

> When mixtape signups opened, I took a deep breath and, before I could talk myself out of it, I sent Cat a private message asking if she'd be interested in collaborating. I didn't even have an idea at the time, I just knew I needed more of her art in my life. Working with her has been an absolute dream, and from the minute she randomly brought up [ Baby Island](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/7932.Baby_Island), I knew we were meant to be. 
> 
> Check out this [behind the scenes look](https://whichstiel.tumblr.com/post/168680106395/i-was-honored-to-work-with-the-lovely) at the steps involved in creating her fantastic paper art!
> 
> Many thanks to [zaphodsgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaphodsgirl/pseuds/zaphodsgirl) for her A+ beta work and for always making us laugh.


End file.
